Below my Feet
by Giggles96
Summary: "Mr Specter, Ross dove under his desk about twenty minutes ago and all attempts to coax him out have been unsuccessful. Do you, uh, think maybe you could-?" "I'll be right there." One-shot.


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**Below my Feet**

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**Summary: **"Mr Specter, Ross dove under his desk about twenty minutes ago and all attempts to coax him out have been unsuccessful. Do you, uh, think maybe you could-?" "I'll be right there."

**A/N: **This is my very first suits fanfic so I'm a little unsure about it. I've only started watching the show a couple weeks ago, but I really wanted to write something, so… here it goes.

**Disclaimer: **_none of these characters belong to me._

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"You know, I'm getting pretty tired of this childish habit of yours."

The words are bored and busy, pushing down on the hardened weariness, and Mike wants nothing more than to fall back on his heels, compile a list of work to be completed for the next week or so, and hightail it outta there. But the clenching of his gut leaves him suspended, caught between his own sense of righteousness and his role as open-minded arbitrator.

Not to mention the fact that this is his boss who routinely publicizes that he is nothing more than a disposable underling.

Mike switches his weight from one foot to the other, before replaying the lawyer's cold, ever-practical manner as he dredged up some of the client's most intimate transgressions all in the name of a potential scandal in perfect recall.

Anger wins out.

"Oh?" Mike scoffs. "Please, by all means, enlighten me. Which _childish habit _is irking you this time?"

He doesn't look up. "The one where you continue to operate under the assumption that I actually give a damn."

Disappointment tears through Mike's spine, and he thinks that it's then, in that second, that he loses all faith in his mentor.

"Here's where you're wrong, though," he grits, "You're familiar with that term, yeah? _Wrong_?" He chuckles lowly for the sole purpose of getting under Harvey's skin, and notes with satisfaction the strain in the older man's jaw as he disdainfully carries on, "Just making sure. See, I've known for quite a while now that you're a dick." He half-shrugs. "That's a given. What I didn't know is that your penchant for jackass-central would prevail common courtesy."

Harvey shifts in his seat from what may be discomfort, but no - Mike snuffs out that slow-burning tinge of relief immediately. There's no point getting his hopes up. "I needed to cover all of our bases-"

"Her husband just _died_, Harvey! How is the seriousness of this not sinking in? Whether or not your suspicions are correct and may or may not damage our case is irrelevant. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment."

Every breath reaps infuriation, so it's no surprise that his lungs burn from the demands, inflating and contracting rapidly despite yielding little air.

With a faint smack, Harvey lets his pen slip between his slack fingers in defeat. Sighing impassively, he leans back in his chair at a piercing angle before interlocking his hands and raising his dark, inscrutable gaze to rest on Mike's own searing one. The atmosphere around them thickens with intensity.

Swallowing his irritation at the relaxed motion, Mike squares his shoulders and continues resolutely, "Not only did you call into question her _fundamental right _to grieve in the first place, you snooped around behind that poor woman's back only to accuse her of being unfaithful!"

"I'll have you know, I unearthed some pretty damning images-"

"Which she already expressed were taken five years ago! She had nothing left to hide, Harvey! _Nothing_! Mrs Hunt is merely a lonely widow who, at your insistence, owned up to all of her past misdeeds, lay every rotten detail out for us to poke and prod, rupturing those old wounds, and what did you do? You abused that trust in the most indifferent, insensitive way that is _inhumanly_ possible."

Harvey rises gracefully to his feet, straightens the cuffs of his jacket and subtly readjusts his tie as he ambles around to the front of his desk and assertively props his poised body against it.

"Need I remind you who you are speaking to?" he chides lightly, tilting his head with the slow-curving promise of a smile - a deceptively harmless gesture blatantly intended to intimidate. Around his eyes there is the slightest tightening and where once the quiet furrowing of his brow had been unreadable, Mike is no longer fooled by it's neutrality. Harvey's pissed.

Not that he cares.

"I'm not sure I appreciate your tone, rookie." A warning, of course, but one he chooses to ignore.

"No," Mike shakes his head with a mocking half-laugh. "I know _exactly_ who I'm talking to." Stepping back, he sneers brazenly and opens his arms wide in a daring show of _I-don't-give-a-fuck. _"Just another corporate douchebag without a shred of decency."

Harvey freezes.

The silence is ear-splitting, but he wouldn't take it back.

Another minute or so and by all outward appearances he remains unruffled as Harvey unfolds from the desk and circles the unapologetic associate, but deep down, in a place he often forgets existed, he feels the numbing of regret. A place he's too proud to acknowledge a capacity for. He doesn't _care_ about that old bat. He can't. Won't.

He does, however, in some way value the kid's opinion of him. After all, what good is a reflection that doesn't wish to mirror the original?

It is because of this, he tells himself, that Harvey's heart stutters at the sight of Mike's stiff posture and clenched fists - because who on earth is going to take a lawyer who displays their every whimsical emotion seriously? Face blank. Body unyielding. Toughen up and put some goddamn effort into this - and his breath hitches at the disappointment he distinguishes in the young man's big, blue eyes.

Like a kicked puppy.

A loyal, eager-to-please, optimistic puppy.

Dammit.

Harvey once again schools his features into mild displeasure, before making himself comfortable at his desk and refocusing on the paperwork in front of him. "I don't have time for this," he says by way of dismissal, stealing a glimpse at his watch, "And taking into account the sheer depth of research this case requires for court bright and early tomorrow morning, then I'm going to go ahead and venture a guess that you don't either." Without peeking up, he makes a shooing signal with his hand.

Mike doesn't move.

"Well?" Harvey rolls his eyes. "What are you waiting for? Hop to it, bug."

Snorting despite himself, Mike swiftly retorts, "Thought I was a pup?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." The other man smirks, lacing his words with heavy sarcasm. "_Bound_ to it, then? Or will I be reduced to throwing a stick just to get you to leave?"

"No need." Mike turns towards the door, pressing his lips tightly together in anger. "Simply keep channelling that inner jerk of yours." He nods to himself. "You'd be surprised. That should do the trick just fine."

Harvey scrubs a hand over his forehead, under which a God-awful headache blooms, and tries to work around the sudden disquiet in his chest as unnatural stillness fills his office.

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Following their successful court case, Harvey sees little of Mike for the remaining week.

Neither of them will come clean about avoiding the other, though few words have been exchanged, and Harvey can count on one hand the amount of times Mike has come within ten feet of either him or his office.

Once.

Nine-fifteen sharp on Wednesday morning.

Not only was the brief encounter painfully uncomfortable as the associate cast his eyes to the ground and shoved some papers into his arms, mumbling a distantly respectful, _'I'll get a head-start on the paperwork for the Henderson merger if that's okay, sir?'_ before receiving approval and fleeing, but Harvey himself felt thrown off balance by the distinct lack of movie-quote exchanging - and since when had he become accustomed to that early morning greeting?

And for that matter, when did Mike _ever_ refer to him or _anyone_ as _sir_?

He would have put it down to Mike regretting what he'd said, fearing that some non-existent threat of getting fired was looming over his head, but when no disciplinary action is taken and the fight seems to draw little to no consequences beyond the obvious, it doesn't make any difference.

Harvey's stumped.

All communication has been through Donna, who makes no secret of her disapproval, and more than once, the senior partner finds himself tempted to take an unplanned excursion to his associate's cubicle. Something is off with his overeager puppy, but he doesn't have the broad scope of familiarity essential to pin down what. And yet more days are passing and the troubled pit in Harvey's stomach has only grown.

It's frustrating and distracting, and little does he know how soon it will all come to a head.

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Monday's are miserable for a number of reasons, but today the sentiment holds particularly true.

Overhead the clouds are preparing for a monumental downpour, as they have been for days, and Harvey shivers in the bitter wind as Ray supplies him with a fresh cup of coffee just as he fluidly folds into the stylish vehicle.

He arrives at the firm at nine on the dot, just about managing a good morning for Donna, who takes great pleasure in whipping out the grumpy old man jokes she's likely been hoarding for the past decade ("Hey, Harvey, guess what? Your forehead is so wrinkled, you could probably screw a hat on!"). He lets her have her fun, pausing while she sniggers down the intercom, then tucks into the rising pile of super-important documents on his desk.

Around half-one, he emerges from another triumphant meeting with a client, but instead of settling back into his office, makes the impulsive decision to just screw it and go check in on Mike.

For crying out loud, he's worried, dang it. There's this unshakable hunch that's something gone wrong that's been bothering him all morning - what choice does he have but to follow up on it?

He ignores Donna's knowing smile as best he can as he saunters past her.

As he closes in on the area for the associates, Harvey slows, standing back and miraculously managing to go unnoticed. He's grateful as it provides him with a rare, small window of opportunity to scrutinize Mike without worrying about his well-earned, hard-hearted reputation being shaken.

To say the kid looks awful would be an understatement.

Head bent over his files, seemingly having difficulty concentrating, the young pup is frighteningly pale, a tremor running through his hands as he jots down notes and blinks up solidly at the computer screen. Mike massages his head and blows out an exhausted breath, before flinching whenever some bumbling idiot knocks over a coffee mug with an expression eerily similar to someone battling the urge to throw up.

Over time, Harvey becomes aware that the jerky reflex isn't even a one time thing.

Leaving the older man to speculate what precisely has got him so painfully on edge in the first place, Mike startles at every little sound, and Harvey feels his heart squeeze forcefully in a way that, regardless of what anyone might say, is not, repeat _not_ fatherly.

Stuffing his hand in his pockets, Harvey finally decides to make his way over to the puppy's cubicle and has the joy of seeing Mike's face drop when he spots him.

"W-what are you doing here?" he questions in bewilderment. "I sent those charts over an hour ago. Was there a problem with them or something?"

"No, no-" Harvey waves away his concerns, "Nothing like that. I simply thought I'd stop by, see how you're doing."

As Mike's eyes narrow in distrust at the statement, the expression looks so out of place that Harvey can't help but chuckle quietly.

"This isn't going to be like those times when I come back to find you lounging at my desk waiting to ream me out again, is it?"

"I swear, kid, I don't have some sinister, ulterior motive. You're safe," Mike slumps and he can't help but add, "For now."

When his pupils widen in comically transparent alarm, the senior partner has to bite back his amusement.

"Seriously though, junior, take a break. Get something to eat. You're making me feel bad for postponing your daily walkies," he teases. "One more pathetic puppy look and I'll be forced to snag your leash from my office."

Mike rolls his eyes, but visibly brightens at the light-hearted banter.

"Sorry, no can do, boss man," he returns with flourish, a wicked smile hovering his lips. "I've gotta get this entire stack of briefs proof-read by the time the clock strikes three. Files which, for your information, Louis has made abundantly clear have zero margin for error. That leaves very little time for fooling around with unnecessary crap like eating."

_Unnecessary, yes, of course. Why didn't you say so?_

He silently scoffs.

Any other day and Harvey might've let it go, but for some unknown reason, he has the strangest urge to protest.

"Mike, I mean it," he inserts some steel into his tone, dropping an octave, "Grab some lunch. Stretch your legs for a bit. You look like someone fished you out of the gutter. I think you can spare fifteen minutes."

"Uh…" He tries and fails to conceal his shock. "I, er, better not. I can possibly squeeze a fifteen minute break in tomorrow, though, if that suits? Do you think that'll tide you over - satisfy your sudden fascination with my well-being?" By this stage Mike's just being blatantly sarcastic. Harvey restrains himself from slapping him in the back of the head. "And on that note, I really don't think such matters should concern you, anyway. Louis is the slave-driver here, not you. Although, I guess I am your associate, so I can see how it might reflect badly on you if I were to say.. keel over in the bullpen."

He pauses to genuinely consider the likelihood of such a thing occurring, which in itself, plus the nonchalant way in which it's being discussed, unnerves Harvey more than a little. "But honestly? The chances of that happening have been dramatically reduced by your unexpected arrival. Gave me quite a start, you did. Revived me a little. I should probably thank you for that. Now, I'm only a little bit light-headed, which in the grand scheme of things is not quite as disconcerting as one might think-"

"You're rambling-" he feels the need to point out.

"Or is this for Donna's benefit?" Mike continues, frowning, "Because, I've told her once and I'll tell her again, she doesn't need to worry about me." Falling back on the chair, he pauses dramatically, spinning leisurely from side to side and tapping the highlighter against his chin. "I'm part-Superman."

Harvey braces himself, but can't completely contain his smirk.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah," Mike nods earnestly, and Harvey only _wishes_ he were messing with him, "I won't go so far as to say that I'm _invincible_, exactly, but I'm pretty damn close. See, I walk a fine line between cyclist and hero. I don't require the same rest and sustenance as you ordinary folk. So long as I have an adequate sprinkling of caffeine in my system, then I can keep going for da-

"Kid," Harvey cuts in with a bullshit-proof stare, "Quit talking out of your ass and get the hell out of that cubicle before I take you by the ear and drag you out of here myself."

Like an overtired toddler, Mike's imagination tends to run away with him when he doesn't get the recommended amount of sleep and you never know what he's gonna say and do next. Harvey finds that being stern with him is generally the best way to go. If you give him even the slightest bit of leeway, he _will_ use that to his advantage and the results are usually disastrous.

After several minutes of staring each other down, Mike sighs and runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions, which does nothing to help Harvey from viewing him as much younger.

"I'm sorry, Harvey," he says regretfully, and the downturn of the weary associate's lips hits him right in the gut. "But I simply don't have the time. I _have_ to finish this."

"Look, I'll get Louis off your back, if need be. You don't have to run yourself ragged."

"Tomorrow, Harvey," and that right there definitely qualifies as a whine, "I can stop for lunch and get a breath of fresh air or whatever _tomorrow_."

He cocks a brow. Why he's so insistent, Harvey's not sure. Mike's never been this committed to getting Louis's work done before.

He thinks back to their earlier argument and scarcely stops himself from grimacing.

Then again, the kid _does_ give the impression of being irrevocably miserable all-round. Maybe he simply needs something to lift his spirits?

Harvey thinks hard for a minute before inspiration strikes.

"Tomorrow, huh?" he drawls curiously.

Peering up at him hopefully, Mike fervently agrees, "Tomorrow, Harvey, I promise I'll go easy."

He ends up cracking a smile as he pulls together a frown to utter with mock-thoughtfulness, "But what is today but yesterday's tomorrow?"

That gets his attention.

Taken aback, Mike's head shoots up and he gapes at his boss as though seeing him for the first time.

A beat, then:

"Sponge-Bob?"

The younger man blinks.

Harvey tips his head back in unmistakable smugness. "I thought you'd recognise it."

Mike seems unable to wrap his head around the concept. "Did you just..? Did _the _Harvey Specter seriously just-"

"Quote Mr Krabs?" He re-buttons the jacket of his suit and straightens. "Yes."

"H-how do you even-"

"You coerced me into watching it, remember? I seem to recall something about 'crimes against nature,' and committing 'the deadliest sin of all time, ever,' because, - to use your exact words - it is a, 'stunning piece of refreshing, visceral brilliance.' It felt as if you were critiquing the latest feel-good comedy. Not a children's cartoon about sponges wearing pants."

He titters in disbelief. "Hey! I resent that!" Mike grins. "There is so much more to that _awesomely amazing, ageless_ show than sponges _or_ pants. He lives in a frickin' pineapple!"

"I got that." The older man nods gravely. "From the theme-tune. In the beginning."

Seeing the elation in Mike's expression, you'd think this was the greatest thing since Christmas.

"Don't lie," he crows, bouncing in his seat with excitement, "You loved it! You've got that same gleam in your eye as the first time we fist-bumped!"

Suddenly, he gasps.

"Oh my God!" he exclaims in a rush. "Think of the possibilities!" Mike attempts to calm himself to no avail. "Okay, listen up, because this is non-negotiable. Here's the deal: this weekend I am _so_ coming round to your condo and we're gonna marathon the shit out of all the cartoon classics. First up, Phineas and Ferb-"

Smirk slipping into a real smile, Harvey's expression softens against his will as he leans back against the cluttered desk and listens to Mike babble.

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Beyond his darkened windows, heavy rain thrashes around in the brutal winds, the prior shower seeming meek by comparison, and before long, the roars of thunder can be heard. Harvey busies himself regardless, loosely aware of the sporadic flares of light behind him, shadows quickly ebbing away before bouncing back with relish.

It's only then that Harvey realises his distraction for Mike worked a little _too_ well.

To his knowledge, the kid still hasn't left for lunch.

He sighs.

Following their short-lived chat, Mike was more determined than ever to keep working and Harvey himself had cases he had to get back to, and in the moment, it must have slipped his mind.

He remembers how cagey Mike had acted, unable to sit still for even a second while his skinny limbs trembled as if lying in wait (and on that thought, he _really_ needs to get some meat on those bones) and realises with a start that it's _bothering_ him.

Annoyed, Harvey brushes the thought aside but resolves to get to the bottom of it later.

Then, no sooner than he has trimmed down his workload by thereabouts a hundred pages does a tentative rap sound at his door.

He frowns.

Mike _never_ knocks.

But then.. this isn't Mike.

"Mr Specter?" An associate he _thinks_ goes by Craig or Greg or whatnot, - one of the braver ones, he figures, if he's eluded Donna - slowly pushes himself forwards, creeping into the senior partner's office unauthorized with evident terror. As if expecting him to yell and throw a book at him or something.

For this alone, Harvey feels he should be generous and grant the boy his full attention.

Craig/Greg's breathing cuts off.

Squirming, he clears his throat and hesitates before delivering the message.

"Mr Specter, Ross dove under his desk about twenty minutes ago and all attempts to coax him out have been unsuccessful." He nervously wipes the sweat from his brow. "Do you, uh, think maybe you could-?"

Harvey's already moving. "I'll be right there."

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Everyone is staring.

The rest of the associates have all returned from their break and now watch with unabashed interest as Harvey reaches Mike's cramped work space. He's not certain what they're anticipating, but the older man has the sinking feeling it involves tears and taking his 'pet genius' down a peg or two.

His fears are confirmed when he overhears one idiot snicker, "Golden Boy's in for it now," as he playfully nudges another.

_This is bad,_ he thinks, as rage coils around his abdomen. _Really bad._

And he hasn't even seen Mike yet.

"Don't you children have any work to be doing?" he enquires with an amiable smile. "Because if you have so little to occupy your time that you can afford to stand around and gawk at each other, then I will happily go scrape together some more."

As to be expected, a number of them gulp and scurry off to their own sections, but he's not so foolish as to assume he's not the sole recipient of their focus.

Then, at long last, he draws closer to the dreaded desk.

And has to stifle his wince.

The sight of Mike cowering with tears in his baby blue eyes and arms wound securely around his bony knees as he clutches a damn highlighter to his chest breaks Harvey's heart.

He can't even find it in himself to scold him for rumpling a five-thousand dollar suit.

"Hey," he greets warmly in the softest voice anyone in the vicinity has ever heard from him as he crouches down beside him. More than one mouth falls open. "You're gonna get a really nasty kink in your neck if you stay like that for much longer.."

Another roll of thunder rumbles and Mike bites down hard on his fist to keep from whimpering. _Whimpering_, for Christ's sake.

"Hey, hey." He places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. It's just a little thunder. Nothing to worry about, see?"

Mike's lip wobbles.

Oh, God.

"I don't suppose I'm going to be able to wheedle you outta there anytime soon?" A barely perceptible shake of the head. He sighs. "Didn't think so."

Harvey lowers himself to the ground fully, incapable of keeping his lip from curling or his nose from wrinkling as he eyes the dust, and proceeds to make himself comfortable. "Well, kid, looks like we're in it for the long haul," Harvey mutters, sliding under the desk beside Mike and mourning the lose of ache-free muscles. "It doesn't seem like this storm is going to be winding down for at least another couple of hours, and I get the feeling you're aiming to out-stubborn it."

The lack of reaction is all the answer he needs.

"You _would_ be that stupid."

Silence fills the gap between them as Mike stares so intently out of shock that Harvey is forced to roll his eyes.

"What?" he laughs. Mike lifts a single brow.

He turns away. "Don't look at me like that. This isn't some selfless deed or anything. You _owe_ me."

The pup is clearly not convinced. Well, whatever.

Extracting his phone from his pocket, he sends a quick text to Donna telling her to meet him at Mike's desk and out of the corner of his eye, catches Mike anxiously gnawing on the cap of the highlighter.

"Hey!" he rebukes sharply. "Get that disgusting thing out of your mouth." Mike moans in complaint. "I don't care," he holds out an open palm, "Hand it over. I will not have you snacking on a choking hazard." The young man groans, but one look at Harvey's expression makes him promptly give in.

"You don't do yourself any favours with the puppy analogy, do you?" Harvey grumbles to which Mike shrugs in amusement. "You know, it won't be so funny in a minute when I instruct one of those Harvard simpletons to remove one of those foul-smelling knock-offs they call shoes so that you can chew on it."

Forehead pinched at the images that arise at the thought, Mike narrows his eyes sceptically.

"Hm, you're half-right," he concedes, smirking, "I wouldn't do that. That would mean I'd actually have to interact with one of them."

For the first time since he came, Mike gives a watery smile.

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Roughly ten minutes later, Donna's voice floats into the bullpen.

Harvey can practically _hear_ her pause in confusion.

"Excuse me, have you seen Harvey Spect-"

"Psst, Donna," he cups a hand over his grinning mouth, "Down here."

She hurries over to the cubicle. "What the hell are you-" she halts, eyes widening. A delighted smile stretches across her face. "That…" She melts, biting her lip as her voice turns gooey, "is adorable."

"Yes, yes," he says dismissively. "My reputation is in tatters around me. Don't rub it in."

"But I have _questions."_

"Of course you do." He rolls his eyes, before patiently clarifying, "Mike has astraphobia. He's not.. overly fond of thunder and lightening."

"Ahh," Donna nods, "I see. That would explain the whole hiding under the desk.. thing."

"Not hiding," Mike objects gruffly and Harvey jolts in surprise that he's actually spoken. "Taking _cover_."

"Oh, yes. Sure. That clears _everything_ up." She shoots her boss a look of sympathy. He simply shakes his head.

"Okay, well, now that that's sorted, Donna I'm going to need you to cancel all of my appointments for the rest of the day." She nods in affirmation. "Oh, and do me a favour and pass me those files on his desk, would you? I'd hate for him to fall behind and get an ass-chewing from sour-face bonehead over there."

"Who?" She feigns ignorance. "Louis?"

Harvey chuckles, that trademark twinkle in his eye. "Who else?"

She beams, then does as she was asked, handing the small stack over. "Right, well, here you go. I'll get on that right away."

As she's striding away, Donna tosses a laughing, "Have fun, boys," over her shoulder and Harvey can't help but groan.

It's at that exact moment that another round of thunder resonances in the distance and they both freeze.

Having unwittingly begun to relax before now, Mike suddenly freaks and to Harvey's horror, the kid's breaths start coming in short, wet gasps while his chest heaves under the weight of his panic. He huddles even deeper into corner and squeezes his eyes shut, before kneading them with the heels of his hands as if to ward off unwanted thoughts.

"Shit." Harvey feels hopelessly lost. "Shit, shit, shit." He seizes the pup's wrists and gently pries his hands away from his face as he says forcefully, "Listen to me, Mike. _Nothing _is going to hurt you, you hear me? Everything is _fine_. You're completely safe with me."

Mike shakes his head quickly, tear tracks forming on his cheeks.

Acting on instinct, Harvey pulls the young man under his arm into a _manly_ embrace and tucks his head under his chin. Stroking his hair soothingly with one _completely steady _hand, he murmurs, "Breathe with me, kid. Come on. You can do it. Just listen to me breathing and it'll all be okay. Good boy. You're doing great. In and out. Just like that." Harvey's not sure he likes the wheezing sound of Mike's chest, but at least his breaths are slowly but surely evening out.

They stay like that for over twenty minutes - Harvey offering tender support while he rubs circles in his back comfortingly and Mike quivering as he struggles to breathe.

Eventually, though, Mike regains control over himself and Harvey lets him drop his dazed head onto his shoulder, as he gives a pained, "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"Neither will I, junior. Neither will I. Last I heard, the papa bear quips are already making their rounds."

Mike peers up at him hesitantly. "And do you… do you care?"

"Do I ever care?" he returns, smirking, and feels the tension drain out of the boy's body.

Then Mike sneaks a look at the documents in Harvey's lap and scowls. "Wait, aren't those-" He breaks off with a jaw-popping yawn and to Mike's astonishment, the older man automatically shushes him, trailing a hand through his hair absentmindedly. He wonders just how out of it he must have been that he missed the moment this became normal.

"Yeah, I'm almost finished."

He notices the red pen in Harvey's hand and gives a sudden whine, "Why aren't you using _my_ highlighter?"

"Because your highlighter was in your mouth," he explains tolerantly, "And it was bad enough that I had to come into contact with your slobber for that split second, never mind with extended use."

He sniffles. "But what's wrong with my slobber?"

Harvey flicks him a startled glance. "I am not even going to dignify that with an answer. You are clearly exhausted. How about you try to get some sleep?" he suggests casually, and why isn't this weird?

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Outside." As if to prove his point, the kid clumsily points in the vague direction of the window.

"Well, what if I distracted you from the happenings of outside? _Then_ do you think you'd sleep?"

An idea already shaping in Harvey's head, Mike mumbles into his jacket, "S'worth a shot, I guess."

"Hmm…" He glances down at the last place he'd been underlining. "Alright.. Here it goes." Adopting a low, dulled, deadpan tone, Harvey begins, "Except as otherwise required by the _American Business Corporate Act _and subject to paragraph 5, the Corporation may from time to time indemnify and save harmless any person who was or is party or is threatened to be made a party to any threatened, pending or completed activity, suit or proceeding, whether civil, criminal, administrative or investigative by reason of the fact that he or she is an employee or agent of the Corporation, or is or was serving at the request-"

"Nooo. I want a _real_ story," comes the raspy reply. "Bylaws are _boring_."

For what feels like the hundredth time that day, Harvey sighs. "That's kind of the point, kiddo."

"Don't like it."

"So.. what? You want me to make something up?" he asks incredulously_. "On the spot?"_

Mike rubs his nose against Harvey's shoulder, who just about reins in the itch to examine the expensive fabric for any trace of snot. "Tell me… tell me about when _you_ were an associate."

"But you already know that story," he responds in a quiet tone that is almost wrapped in fondness. "I was awesome and Jessica adored me. Occasionally pawned off the grunt work on Louis and some other morons, but make no mistake, worked _incredibly hard _to get where I am now. The hours were long, probably averaged out at about two all-nighters a week, and I rented a fairly shabby apartment, though, before you go thinking it was anywhere near as crappy as _your_ apartment, just remember that I have standards and would never be caught dead in that flea-invested hole you call a-" His gaze wanders down to the silent pup and a smile tugs at his lips when he learns he's already fast asleep.

Keeping a secure grip on the young man to stop his head from rolling, he picks up his pen and resumes working.

Harvey smoothes a thumb over Mike's patchy, red cheek absently and doesn't even notice when he starts to hum a soft tune that could easily pass for a lullaby.

* * *

******-0-o-0-o-0-**

* * *

_Thank-you very much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this short little one-shot. Please review._

_I apologise if any language offended you._

_Also, if anyone is wondering… yes, I did base this entire fic around that Sponge-Bob Square-pants reference because my sense of humour is that ridiculous. You're welcome :)_


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